


Four Minutes in Exile

by AllTheThings



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Episode: s03e03 His Last Vow, Gen, POV Sherlock Holmes, Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-12
Updated: 2014-08-12
Packaged: 2018-02-12 15:12:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2114628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllTheThings/pseuds/AllTheThings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For Sherlock, four minutes in exile is rather a long time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Four Minutes in Exile

**Author's Note:**

> Something about Sherlock's face as he is sitting on the plane made me want to explore his state of mind during his abbreviated exile. Hope you enjoy!
> 
> Thank you very much to my wonderful beta, BlushingNewb!

Sherlock sinks into his seat as the plane taxies to the runway, an uneasy pressure in his chest. Three years ago, this vaguely unsettling feeling would have been unfamiliar, but recently he had been experiencing it with alarming frequency. _Sentiment_.

He stares out the window, tracking John and Mary standing on the tarmac as the plane lifts off. They are safe now - Sherlock’s well-placed bullet at Magnussen’s house ensured that the information he had on Mary would remain secret. Given the choice, he would have done it again, but the victory felt hollow. 

_Six months_. He had left John before, allowing him, encouraging him, to believe him dead. This is different. There are no theatrics here, no giant airbag or well-timed cyclist to knock John to the ground. This time, the deception is more subtle, insidious. John is left abandoned and wondering what had just happened. This time, he will go out not with a bang, but with a whimper. This time, it will be forever.

He takes a shaky breath, his eyes losing focus as the plane carries him away from the airport, and John. It will be the hardest six months of his life. Not because he will die at the end of them; Sherlock had never expected that he would die quietly in his old age. It was a miracle that he had survived Mary’s ‘surgery.’ No, despite the aloof facade he maintained, his years in exile and subsequent return had led him to an important self-discovery: he really is lost without his blogger.

The minion assigned to escort him cuts into his thoughts, “Sir? It’s your brother.”

He reaches over and takes the phone, wondering what Mycroft could possibly want now. “Mycroft,” he answered.

“Hello, little brother. How’s the exile going?”

_Miserably_ , he thinks, but he wouldn’t admit it to anyone, especially Mycroft. Instead, he snips, “I’ve only been gone four minutes.”

“Well, I certainly hope you’ve learnt your lesson,” Mycroft replies in his know-it-all big brother manner. “As it turns out, you’re needed.”

Sherlock doesn’t dare to hope, not yet. He covers his desperation by sticking to the script, responding in his best annoyed little brother voice, “Oh for God’s sake, make up your mind. Who needs me this time?”

“England,” replies Mycroft, and Sherlock feels a lump form in his throat as the plane shifts, turning back toward the airport. 

He attempts to compose himself, his mind and body stuttering from the relief that floods through him. He allows himself one brief moment to process his deliverance, then hastily begins reconstructing his walls, imprisoning the unbidden and unwelcome feelings in a deep corner of himself. The walls aren’t strong, but they will get him through the next few minutes until he can reinforce them. These feelings that have somehow broken through his defenses must be apprehended and caged. _Sentiment. Human error. Chemical defect._ God, how they hurt. He would not let them in again. Sherlock had indeed learned his lesson.


End file.
